


The Disappeared Detective

by AndromedaCat



Series: 12 Days of Writingmas 2019 [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21770053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaCat/pseuds/AndromedaCat
Summary: Holmes steps out on a routine errand and doesn’t return. Watson and Clark are torn between trusting that Holmes can handle any situation and using what he has taught them to unravel what has become of him.
Series: 12 Days of Writingmas 2019 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568941
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It begins again!
> 
> Aiming for 1000 words a day, we'll see what happens!
> 
> There will be a return of Wiggins, the Baker Street Irregulars, the Maid's Chain (still not cannon but I love it), and a distinct lack of Holmes, at least for a while. 
> 
> Thanks to my two wonderful people for the encouragement! I can't wait to read your work (you know who you are)!
> 
> Takk!

A snowless yet chilly December surrounded 221B Baker street. Again, the cold had reduced the criminal activity in the streets, much to the continued annoyance of Sherlock Holmes. Holmes had recently been successful in unravelling the last lingering threads of a military scandal that, due to its sensitive nature, shall never be fully explored in these pages until certain cabinet ministers and members of the nobility are deceased. It had been a complex case, involving the governments of multiple countries, taxing Holmes as I had rarely seen before. Myself and Miss Clark, as she had become a friend of the house last winter, had contributed little to the case, but were overjoyed at the success. Our main role in the affair had been to ensure that Holmes was not using himself too freely. As he had a tendency not to eat or rest when hot on the trail, it took all of our combined powers to ensure Holmes’ health. At long last, once Clark had threatened to meddle with Holmes’ chemical experiments and I threatened with a Doctor’s medical ban from work if he continued in such a manner, he relented and would allow himself at the very least a brief rest and a sandwich once a day. It was not much, but Clark and I saw it as a major victory in ensuring Holmes did not destroy himself through his work. 

Our secondary task, and an infinitely more difficult one, was to attempt to lighten the black mood that Holmes frequently fell into after the completion of a case. I had managed to encourage Homles to abandon the use of cocaine to stave off his dark reaction and boredom, leaving a completely sober Holmes to lounge listlessly and feverishly on the sofa or in bed for days at a time. Clark had gone so far as to suggest we plant false crimes to have him solve, possibly bringing Wiggins in to assist if it would break the spell. However, we both reached the same conclusion that Holmes would easily see through our deception and quite likely be disappointed by our errors in creating such a scheme. Clark decided to use a different tactic. She began to write her own mystery stories, using myself as a sounding board in the same fashion that Holmes consulted us. Our discussion was easily, and intentionally, overheard by Holmes in the next room, as evidenced by the occasional snorts of derision made when the somewhat bumbling character of the police in her tale made yet another erroneous assumption. At length, Holmes would call out a suggestion or question as to where the wits of the characters had departed to. More often than not, Clark would have an answer ready that would provoke at least another question from Holmes. On occasion Clark would gesture frantically to me and I would have to fill the space while she consulted her notes to provide a response that would hopefully not seem ridiculous to Holmes. 

After a few days of this, Holmes would emerge from his rooms, still in his mouse coloured dressing gown, to hear more of her story and discuss it with us. I found that Clark is a competent writer, though not brilliant, and her story engaging. Holmes had stated to me, in private, that the stories were prettily done and of potential. He would then discuss the stories with me as if they were cases, bringing a small spark of energy into his face. Eventually he roused though to suggest that I model my works after hers to reduce the romance in my renditions of Holmes’ cases! Rather disgruntled, I suggested that perhaps she should be the one to document his works, but Holmes waved my words away. “There is nothing she could bring to the tales that you could not, my dear Watson,” he said.

“But there is something she could leave out,” I retorted. “As you so despise the romance and my writing style and prefer hers.”

“Come now, Watson,” said Holmes kindly. “You realize she is basing her writing style entirely upon you?”

This I had not considered. It was not until the following day that, as I listened to Clark reading the next instalment of her story, that I realized it was true. Seeing my face, Holmes remarked to Clark that I had detected the similarity. Clark laughingly replied that she knew the only way Holmes would be interested in the works was if they carried the ‘Watson touch’, as she called it. While I privately felt there may be truth to this, Holmes and I encouraged her to write in her own style. Her writings have changed slightly since, as when she writes she says she frequently hears the stories narrated into her ear as if I or Holmes was dictating to her. I suggested that perhaps Holmes was there in spirit, hovering over her shoulder and whispering to reduce the fantasy of her story.

Clark had been there to hear that remark, and laughingly assured us that what romance and fantasy she had in her imagination was being used in another work that we would never be shown, much to the relief of Holmes, I imagine. Holmes was likely disappointed that Clarke would consider writing a romance, but was willing to let this pass as a trait of a feminine nature. I was surprised to see Clark let the remark pass with another laugh, as she usually balks at the idea of her femininity determining her actions and despises gender roles. In private, Clark confided to me that there was no romance novel, but that having Holmes believe there was one could prove to be a helpful distraction. I take that to mean she would give the impression that she had completed and hidden the work, letting such comments drop that Holmes would be loathe to let such drivel see the light of day, and let Holmes use his talents in attempting to locate it. 

I was still attempting to talk her our of such a scheme when Holmes disappeared.


	2. In The Morning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting into it now!
> 
> Again, much gratitude to MakeNoiseMan for the support and enthusiasm!

Holmes had left that morning to post a letter shortly after breakfast. The sun was streaming in through the windows, made even more brilliant by the cold snap in the air. I had completed the newspaper some time ago, and sat at the breakfast table wondering how I would attempt to engage Holmes for the day. Holmes had begun a work on the music of Schubert, and I had hopes that I could possibly interest him in a performance of Berlioz’s Le Carnivale Romaine and Le corsaire for later that afternoon. Holmes had a fine appreciation of music, which did sometimes seem to be in contrast to his logic driven mind, but was entirely in keeping with his artistic and Bohemian soul. In an unusual departure from his regular study of Medieval and Renaissance music Holmes had recently turned to Schubert as a topic of study, to which I could only assume Schubert’s interest in Medieval counterpoint had been the inspiration. I would not have been surprised in the least if Holmes had been intending to create a counterpoint work after the style of the composer himself. 

I had brought with me to the table one of the books Sherlock was studying and flipped through the pages, being extremely careful not to dislodge any of Homles’ many bookmarks. It was technical but not inaccessible, and quite some time had passed before I looked at the clock. Mrs. Hudson had already cleared the breakfast dishes while I was reading, and I was surprised to see it was nearly noon and Holmes had not returned. 

While it was not unusual for Holmes to be away for hours when investigating some fact or person, the absence of a case made this unusual, for Holmes was regular in his habits when not engaged in work. I resumed my reading, all the while listening for the click of the front door to signal Holmes return. My glances at my pocket watch and the clock grew more frequent as time passed and Mrs. Hudson began to lay the table for lunch for two. “Did Mr. Holmes mention being away?” I asked.

“No, sir, he did not. Has he not returned?” Mrs. Husdon asked.

We continued our conversation for a only a few moments more, as Mrs. Hudson did not appear to be overly surprised by Holmes’ slightly unusual behaviour. She had been witness to Homles not eating for days at a time, so this was likely of little notice to her. 

I found myself increasingly distracted as I finished my meal. I found myself pacing the room, taking a half hearted attempt to read, gazing at a faded watercolour on the wall, briefly examine the correspondence Holmes kept impaled on the mantle with a jackknife. When the clock struck two o’clock, I felt a minor twinge of unease, which I quickly banished. It occurred to me that perhaps Holmes had stumbled upon some case, which would explain his absence. However, it would be uncharacteristic of Holmes in the extreme to not have sent a message back to Baker Street to either inform me or call me to join him. As the sun set and shadows began to gather in the corners of the room, I made a journey to the post office closest to Baker Street, which I knew would be the most likely for Holmes to visit if he chose for some reason to leave me a message. I was very surprised to learn from the clerk at the desk that, while he recognized Holmes by sight, Holmes had not been to the post office that day at all.  
I has kept my eyes on the pavement during my journey back, attempting to spot a footprint I could identify as Holmes, but the lack of even a trace of snow or water and the frozen mud made footprints impossible. Returning to our rooms, I attempted to keep a rational mind and not be carried away by fantasies. As I approached our door, I heard a greeting and turned to see Miss Clark, whose lodgings were nearby to our own. At once she could see concern in my face and we quickly drew inside away from the biting cold and confusing shadows. 

Once seated in the warmth of our sitting room, I explained my concerns and Holmes unusual conduct. Clark was of a similar opinion of myself, and we were equally torn. “Why wouldn’t Holmes contact you?” Clark asked. “Do you think he’s stumbled into something dangerous?”

“If he had I would expect him to self a message along. Unless he felt that I would somehow hamper his investigations,” I suggested, ruefully rubbing the still slightly tender wound from my military days. 

Clark waved my suggestion aside. “Nonsense! Don’t you think it. There must be a reason for this, we may be getting worked up over nothing. Let’s look at this the way Holmes would. Either he’s discovered a case and time is of the essence or Lestrade has roped him into helping with something that’s taken longer than expected.”

She spoke without conviction. We both knew Holmes would summon me. 

As I opened my mouth to speak my fear that perhaps something had happened, there was a ring of the bell. Both Clark and I sprang up and to the window. On the step was Lestrade and a fellow officer, but no Sherlock Holmes. I met Clark’s gaze, both of us beginning to succumb to the fear that something must be wrong. 

Lestrade entered the room, followed by a tall and fair officer. “Doctor Watson! Miss Clark! Lovely to see you. This is my colleague Mr.Bradshawe. We were hoping to speak with Mr. Holmes. Is he out?”

“Yes,” replied Clark, “And we hoped he was with you.”

Lestrade was confused by this, and confirmed our fears that he had no word from Holmes, nor had he appeared at the station at all that day. While Mr.Bradshawe did not appear to appreciate the situation, Lestrade knew enough of our friend to understand our fears.

Without a word, without a trace, Holmes had vanished.


	3. The Injured Officer's Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade and former Officer Bradshawe present a case that Holmes would like in the hands of Watson and Holmes. Even Lestrade is a bit worried about Holmes.
> 
> Clark and Watson are more than a bit worried. 
> 
> Tusen Takk!

Lestrade and Mr.Bradshawe sat on the sofa, with Clark in my chair and I standing by the hearth. There was an unspoken agreement between she and I that no one would sit in Holmes’ chair, in the hope that if we left it empty he would return soon to fill it and provide an explanation. Mr.Bradshawe seemed mildly curious but overall unconcerned with the situation, sitting somewhat stiffly with a great file in his hands, though Lestrade’s face showed at least some appreciation for our concerns. “Do you mean Holmes has actually vanished? Couldn’t this be a case?”

“He has none,” I said. “He went to post a letter this morning, nothing further. While not unlikely that he may find a mystery, it is extremely unlikely that he would not have sent a message back by now.”

“Hmm... Unfortunately I don’t see what we can do,” Lestrade said. “He’s of a sound enough character and mind that he could withstand most dangers. There isn’t much we could do to look for him, especially this soon after his disappearance. Not to mention his clever ways, he could probably blend in far better than even you did, Miss Clark, if he wanted to not be found. Perhaps he has been following someone?”

“Even if he were, he could still send one of Wiggin’s fellows with a note,” argued Clark. “Slipping a little something wrapped in a note to a street urchin is not something that would attract attention.”

“I don’t see what we can do but wait. While worrying, there is little chance of Holmes coming to harm. He’ll return before long with a story of his own cleverness and bending of the law, I’m sure.” 

A glance at Clark’s face told me that she was little comforted by this. Our guest shifted slightly on the sofa, his gaze passing between us. “I suppose we may as well be going then, Inspector, if Holmes isn’t here.”

“You’re welcome to wait with us if the matter is of importance,” I said. 

“That it may be,” said Lestrade. “Though if Mr. Holmes is not here there is little point in staying.”

“Unless you yourselves could help?” asked Bradshawe, looking between Clark and I. Lestrade did not appear pleased with this, but before he could remark, Clark responded. “Neither of us could hold a candle to Holmes, I fear,” she said. “But we might be able to help, with an outsider’s perspective if nothing else. At the very least it will give us something to think about.”

Lestrade appeared ready to object, but Clark met his gaze with such a level expression that he relented. Lestrade had struggled with the idea that Holmes had allowed a female to become one of his inner circle, and had to overcome a number of personal prejudices before allowing her to participate in discussing his problems before Holmes and I. 

“To explain,” began Mr.Bradshawe, again shifting gingerly, “I am a semi-retired officer of the law, due to an unfortunate injury in my early career, and have been able to continue my work, after a fashion, in finding patterns throughout old and forgotten cases that bear similarities. Through this I have been able to assist in several arrests.”

“You may have heard of the arrest of the Bradleys and the capture of the murderer Georges Ford,” Lestrade said, with some pride. “As well as the capture of the poisoner Millie Davidson, at long last, to name a few of the successes of Officer Bradshawe.”

The country had read with great interest as these unsolved cases had been completed, manny breathing a sigh of relief when these dangerous and cunning individuals were incarcerated. After a glance again between Clark and I, Bradshawe continued. “I’ve noticed several strange patterns in murders of young and elderly ladies in many of our forgotten cases. Something about them seemed peculiar, though I have been unable to establish anything concrete. The households of the oldest cases have been dissolved, with many of the key witnesses having died since. The first case stretches back some thirty five years ago, though the most recent is only within the last six months. I have little to connect them, besides their victims, but felt that Lestrade should be informed. He suggested we turn them over to Mr. Holmes.”

“As the force is concerned primarily with current crimes, I felt that puzzling over these cold cases may be interesting to Holmes,” Lestrade said. “Not that the force would be unable to solve them, but we need Bradshawe to be more primarily focused on more current problems.”

Bradshawe flushed slightly and looked away at this, appearing to be slightly embarrassed by his importance in the eyes of the inspector. Looking up again, he continued. “I would leave my work for Mr. Holmes to review. Unless you would feel inclined to help? You have worked with Mr. Holmes some time, Doctor Watson, I imagine you have learned some of his methods. Miss Clark, I would value your thoughts.”

“We would be happy to assist until Holmes returns, though I if he does not return or send word by tomorrow we shall have to abandon your case for that of the disappeared detective.”

“If he has not returned by tomorrow night, I’ll tell my men to keep a lookout. It’s early days to panic yet,” said Lestrade. “We’ll call again soon unless we hear from you.”

Bradshawe seemed pleased with this, carefully rising from the couch as if he had a great tenderness in his back. He shook hands with myself and Clark, handing Clark the great sheaf of papers and newspaper cuttings, thanking us both before departing. As Bradshawe followed Lestrade to the door, I happened to turn in time to see Bradshawe glance back into the room at Clark, who stood near the fire looking through the file. His gaze lingered for a moment, before finally turning and leaving. As our guests drove off through the street, I remarked to Clark. “It may be well Holmes was not here to listen to Lestrade dismiss his logic as mere puzzling.”

“No doubt he would have been amused.”

Clark spread the sheets of paper out on the table, both of us bending over it. Many names, dates, locations, some close and some far apart, nothing apparent connecting them. “I can make head nor tails of this,” I remarked after a lengthly study. “Nor can I,” Clark admitted. “This is the sort of pretty problem Holmes would have liked.”

As soon as the words left her lips she regretted them. “Do you think he’s alright? He’s tough, isn’t he?” She asked.

I took her hand, reassuring her as best I could while attempting to reassure myself. As with out new client’s case, I had no answers.


	4. A Case Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watson and Clark set the Maid's Chain in motion and tell Lestrade to being searing in earnest.   
> Bradshawe returns and suggests an entirely un thought of reason for Holmes to disappear.
> 
> Tusen Takk!

The night passed fitfully. I attempted to sleep, jerking awake at the slight sound that could have been a click of the latch or Holmes’ step on the stair. Before sunrise I had given up the struggle to sleep and dressed. At this point even Mrs. Hudson shared our feelings that something was amiss. Shortly after ten o’clock in the morning, Clark called at our apartments, her face showing that mine had not been the only restless night. Mrs. Hudson sat with us for a time, all of us attempting to remember anything from the past few days that could have signalled a case or danger to our friend. At length, Mrs. Husdon announced she was going to speak to the next door’s scullery made, setting the Maid’s Chain in motion and putting the word out as delicately as possible that Holmes was missing. Clark flagged down a messenger to send word to Lestrade that Holmes had not returned and to begin investigations imediately. 

Back inside the warmth of 221B, Clark and I sat in silence, each thinking. Mrs. Hudson brought in tea in an attempt to ease the mood, and the ritual was vaguely soothing. A damp and cold wind blew against the windows, making a sharp contrast against the warmth of the fire in the sitting room. I sat by my desk, gazing into the gloomy street, still wracking my brains as to what steps I could take to find our friend. Clark sat at the table, eventually pulling Mr. Bradshawe’s case towards her. Well over an hour passed in silence before she shoved the papers away in annoyance. “I can’t make anything of this!” Clark cried in disgust. “Apart from all of the victims being female, there is nothing connecting them! One poisoned, one vanished, one possible suicide, two apparent heart attacks in old age, all leaving property to different people and institutions. This one here left all she possessed to the Nightingale Fund! Unless Mr. Bradshawe is suggesting that they and the RSPCA are somehow involved in murder and embezzling I really can’t see what the connection is.”

“Holmes would have, in an instant,” I said. “I’m sure. And explained it all in a way that makes us feel and look like fools” she replied with a faint smile.

There as another pause, each of us picturing Holmes voice with it’s slightly careless inflection as he revealed motivations and facts that were somehow hidden in plain sight. 

“Watson,” Clark said, suddenly. “Do you know what-”

At this there was a peal at the bell. Peering out of the window, I could see Bradshawe, but no Lestrade in sight. I turned back to Clark, who had risen at the peal of the bell and shook my head. “It’s Bradshawe,” I explained. “Most likely he had come hoping Holmes returned.”

Bradshawe was indeed disappointed that Holmes had not returned, though his expression of disappointment was checked by the concern in Miss Clark’s face. He sat gingerly on the sofa, enquiring if there was anything he could do. “I’m not certain what else can be done, truthfully,” I admitted. “With the Maid’s Chain in place, the force on alert and Wiggins surely alerted by now, there is nothing we can do.”

“We could alert the public,” Clark suggested.

“I’m not sure is that is wise,” said Bradshawe, slowly.

“Why not?”

“What if his disappearance is intentional? It may be crucial to the case, and to his very safety, that he is thought to be safe and occupied in Baker Street. Were he held against his will by another, and no ransom sent, this news of an investigation into his whereabouts may cause a criminal to panic and... Well, I don’t wish to alarm you, but it might bring Mr. Holmes to harm.”

These last words were spoken to Clark, who was as still as a frightened rabbit at Bradshawe’s suggestion of harm to Holmes. 

“What if harm has already come to Mr. Holmes.” Clark said, uttering the words I had not wished to think.

“Don’t think it,” said Bradshawe firmly, leaning towards Clark and making as if to take her hand, but checking himself. “You’ll find him or he’ll resurface. I’m certain he’s fine.”

Clark continued to stare into the fire, looking little comforted. I cleared my throat and changed the conversation before I could allow myself to worry further. “We have both been over your file, Mr. Bradshawe, and I’m afraid we are unequal to the task. As my colleague has said, there appears to be little beyond the gender of the victims linking the cases. Without Holmes to make the connection, I fear that they will go unsolved.”

Bradshawe opened his mouth to speak, then appeared to be struck by something. He sat in silence for some moments with a light in his eyes before finally suggesting, “What if Holmes already made a connection?”

“What do you mean?” asked Clark, looking at length from the fire to Bradshawe.

“The last of these deaths occurred while Mr. Holmes was occupied with his latest case, weren’t they? Supposing that Holmes was now free to turn his mind to the news, would these have gone unnoticed? What if he was already working on this case?”

“He gave no indication of it,” I said. Bradshawe waived my comment away. “He may only have just begun to put the pieces together. I suspect a far reaching person or group to be behind this, what if they realized that an unoccupied Holmes could endanger them?”

This was a revelation to me. The look on Clark’s face suggested the same. Looking between us, Bradshawe nodded. “It would be useless to invent a crime or plant a scandal to distract Mr. Holmes, he would see through that in an instant. To attempt to capture him may be the only way to prevent him from bringing the culprits to light! Holmes may have thwarted such an attempt the other day and remains in hiding until he can strike back.”

I felt an immediate sense of relief at the suggestion. It felt far more plausible than some misfortune occurring to Holmes. And as Holmes could frequently detect a crime before it’s detection by the force, it would make sense that a group such as Bradshawe described would act preemptively. 

This however raised multiple questions. What had Holmes noticed? Who was behind the crimes and Holmes’ possible disappearance? While not having any further answers, the suggestion that Holmes had a grasp of the situation and may be safely hidden from his pursuers eased my mind.


	5. The Files

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt for Holmes begins!
> 
> ~
> 
> Sooo this week looks to be busy, so consider this tomorrow's writing challenge! 
> 
> As, again, I miscalculated the number of days in my writing challenge, there may be a day off taken this week and/or next. Stay tuned!
> 
> Tusen Takk!

Bradshawe’s suggestion lit a fire of hope. When Lestrade arrived, flurried and irritated at our order to engage the police, Bradshawe included him in our theory. Lestrade was the first to suggest a plan of action. “It seems it would be wise to contact some of the remaining witnesses of your cases, Bradshawe,” he said. “Perhaps, with the idea of their tragedy being connected to the others will rouse something in their memories. Perhaps you, Doctor Watson, would be able to speak to the chief medical examiner on the most recent case? It seems to have been a catalyst, and we cannot afford to overlook it.”

“Perhaps Miss Clark would be willing to accompany me? Lestrade and I?” Bradshawe asked, a faint embarrassment passing over his features at Lestrade’s look of disapproval. “Many of the maids and female staff of these establishments are wary of the law. The presence of another young lady may put them at ease and allow them to speak more freely than they would have in front of officers.”

This had a ring of truth, as I had frequently been told things in confidence by my position as a doctor that would never have been confided to a policeman. However, I could see an earnestness in his face as he looked to Miss Clark for her answer. A faint blush on her cheeks spoke volumes, though her face and expression were normal. Lestrade interrupted before she could speak. “While your presence ‘may’ be of assistance, if would be wisest to leave the questions to myself and Bradshawe. This is still police business.”

“Of course. When do you intend to start?” Clark replied.

“Immediately, if that suits you.” “It does. I shall change my costume into something a little more conventional, with the proper accessories.”

This caused me to start slightly, though I caught my reaction. To Clark, the ‘proper accessories’ meant to go out equipped for a case. She frequently referred to my and Holmes arming ourselves with magnifying glasses and my army revolver as ‘donning the proper accessories’. I took this to be her private message to myself that she intended to go armed, and that I would be wise to do the same.

Bradshawe and Lestrade appeared to misinterpret my reaction. “Indeed, it would be wise, Miss Clark,” said Lestrade with a small smile. “Theses ladies would most likely react favourably to a more feminine and fashionable outfit.”

“Then I shall return shortly, and ready for combat.” 

After Clark departed for her home across the street, Lestrade allowed himself a laugh. “You and Holmes do keep eccentric company! I have not seen attire like that outside of satire.”

“Miss Clark prefers her native German clothing. She claims it is more practical and comfortable, although I do admit it is not seen as a fashionable choice.”

“Miss Clark is a rare woman,” Bradshawe replied. 

Lestrade looked at Bradshawe before meeting my gaze with a cynical look. “Kindly keep your mind on the case, Officer,” Lestrade said, dryly.

Bradshawe reddened further, making some remark about the work at hand as Lestrade and I exchanged another look. I felt that, while Bradshawe may have made an impression on Clark, and she a greater one on him, she would not be likely to risk another relationship after the trials her family and last close friend had put her through. I felt that they could make a fine match, if Bradshawe were able to wait patiently and earn the lady’s confidence. Should we find Holmes through his stroke of brilliance, I thought, it would likely win the lady’s admiration. 

With remarkable speed, Clark returned dressed in the fashion of a moderately wealthy, yet sensible, woman. Bradshawe was careful to guard his reaction to this, although all present were likely to notice the was he now regarded her. 

I departed in a separate cab, with all of us promising to meet back at seven to discuss what we had learned.

~

I returned earlier than I intended to Baker Street. I had gathered what sparse information there was on the last mysterious death with little resistance. I had encountered a colleague from many years past who granted me rapid access to the coroner’s reports and assured me of assistance should I need anything more. It was barely a quarter to seven when I entered my rooms. It was quiet, as my companions had not returned and Mrs. Hudson appeared to be out. 

As I entered and climbed the stairs, I became aware of an uneasy feeling. Seeing the door to the sitting room nearly closed after I was sure I had left it open sent a shiver of anticipation down my neck. Pulling my army revolver from my coat pocket, I burst into the room. It was empty and in complete disarray. Files had been pulled from the shelves, books lay sprawled and scattered everywhere, and the correspondence from the fireplace had been rifled through and discarded as the jackknife was imbedded in the wall. Bradshawe’s file, which had been left on the table, was gone. 

There was a clatter of cab wheels outside the window and I saw Clark, Lestrade and Bradshawe emerge. I threw up the window and shouted to them what had occurred. In a moment they were in the sitting room, each at a loss. “It appears we are on the right track,” observed Lestrade, appearing shaken.

“Holmes must have discovered something, though I fear it is now out of our reach,” lamented Bradshawe, as he sifted through the pile of rifled letters. 

Clark, white to the lips, began righting furniture that had been knocked over. “What can they have been hunting for? Do you suppose they are watching the flat, even now?”

Her hands were shaking as she went to right one of the tables near the door. Bradshawe caught her hands in his. “You’ll not come to harm, either of you. If they had the file and Holmes’ notes, there is no reason for them to return.”

“It might be wise to have an officer or two stationed outside, just in case they did not get all they came for,” suggested Lestrade. “It is entirely possible they do not know that you, Watson, and Miss Clark are in the dark over this business.”

“They’ve done a pretty thorough job here, I doubt they would be back,” said Clark, attempting a smile of reassurance. She turned back to Bradshawe, who still held her hands. “The guard will not be necessary, although there may be safety in numbers. I suggest that I should occupy your spare room, Watson, to add an extra pair of ears should another attempt be made in the night.”

Bradshawe confirmed that this would be a wise course, although the way he pressed her hands before releasing them with a glance in my direction seemed to suggest some resentment. “It may be wise for you to not travel alone, Clark. I would suggest keeping myself or Bradshawe with you, should these unseen people be a true threat to us,” I suggested. Bradshawe seemed mollified by this, and Clark agreed. 

After the two had left, Clark and I continued to put right the room. Several files had been taken, many on persons of interest and several more on various poisons. At length we finished. I righted my chair and picked up the book that had sheltered under it during the robbery. Seating myself, I flipped through the book, browsing again through the music text Holmes had been making. A thought struck me, and I began to search through the now ordered piles of paper on Holmes’ work table, quickly followed by the papers now organized on his desk. “What is it?” Clark asked, seated on the sofa and watching me with confusion.   
“This!” I replied, handing her the book. “Holmes was working on a musical project based on this. I picked that up to read yesterday. It apparently had been wedged between the seat and back cushion when the chair was overturned.”

“What of it?” Clark asked, flipping through the volume and noting the number of bookmarks.

“It is the only part of Holmes’ musical work that the thieves left behind.”

Clark looked up in amazement. “They took his project? But whatever for?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “That is the book Holmes was working from the most, and it seemed the most important to his writing. If I recall, he was writing something about Schubert and counterpoint.”

“But how on earth could that have any bearing on the string of murders?” Clark asked.

To this, I had no answer.


	6. The Musician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was so right about yesterday. Writing would have produced trash.
> 
> Here's today! A huge thank you to MakeNoiseMan for letting me use aspects of himself to create a character, and for future characters I've been allowed to steal from his work for chapter eight. 
> 
> Again, Tusen Takk!
> 
> P.S. ‘Musicians Alley’ doesn't actually exist, but why not?
> 
> And yes, here's where the plot gets a bit bonkers.   
> Don't worry, it'll get worse.

Clark and I stayed awake long into the night, discussing what possible importance Holmes’ music research could have. Mrs. Hudson had arrived shortly after nine o’clock, having received a false summons from Scotland Yard shortly after we left. The message asked her to come down to the hospital to identify a beaten and unconscious man who may be Holmes. There was in fact no such person, and the false police document aroused considerable suspicion by the hospital staff. It was not until some time had passed and an officer was summoned that was able recognize Mrs. Hudson and vouch for her personally that she was allowed to leave. 

We slept lightly, all keen to detect the sound of possibly another burglary. I placed Holmes’ forgotten book in the very back of Mrs. Hudson’s larder, there being the only place I could think that the criminals would not search. Clark had risen before dawn, and was already seated at the breakfast table with the book when I rose. The stress of the mystery we were living under was clearly taking a toll, as I watched Clark repeatedly rub her eyes as she read, frequently lifting an empty coffee cup to her lips only to set it down again and entirely forget to refill it. Eventually she pushed the book to me, rubbing her forehead. “It’s no use,” she said. “I can’t understand what Holmes was looking for. Holmes has bookmarks under so much! I can’t understand the connection, none of the victims in Bradshawe’s cases were musicians or musicologists. None left substantial donations to any musical institution or bequeathed so much as a mouth organ!”  
“Let’s not give up yet,” I encouraged, though I feared we were hopelessly lost. “When Bradshawe returns this afternoon, we shall put it before him. Perhaps he can lead us to an answer.”

Clark was silent, looking intently at the book lying open on the table. “He does seem to see these connections,” she said. 

“Had he any idea what Holmes’ errand of the other day was?” I asked.

“None at all, he was asking me my thoughts on that yesterday,” she replied. “He assumed it was about his cases. I’m more inclined to think it is about this musical work.”

“Do you think Holmes would have contacted a musicologist? It may be worth something to search one out. There are certainly a few scholars who specialize in Schubert, and many more with a focus on counterpoint. Surely we can locate one who has experience with both. At the very least one may have seen Holmes that day.”

At that moment, there was a ring at the bell. Rising and looking down into the street, I saw a young man standing on the step. “That must be Bradshawe,” said Clark. 

“No, this is a stranger. I’m certain I’ve never seen him before,” I replied.

Presently, Mrs. Hudson entered with the young gentleman’s card. “‘Arthur Swanson, Musician and Instructor’!” I read aloud. “Send him up, Mrs. Hudson!”

“Do you think he’s involved in this?” Clark asked, as Mrs. Hudson retreated. “Why else would a musical gentleman be at the door?” I replied, feeling a burst of hope for the first time since this entire mystery began. 

The gentleman who entered was a dark haired and dark eyed young man. His smile was pleasant and slightly nervous as he asked for Mr. Holmes. “I’m sorry I’m late to see him, this only reached me yesterday,” he said, holding up a letter. 

“Mr. Holmes has vanished,” I replied.

The astonishment on our visitor’s face was genuine. “What? Truly?”

“Yes, and we think that letter may be important.”

Without a word Mr. Swanson handed me the letter, which Clark read over my shoulder. 

‘Mr. Swanson,  
I have some further questions to ask you of potentially great importance, if you would spare me a moment of your time, at your earliest convenience. Kindly call on myself and my colleagues tomorrow morning

Sincerely, Holmes.’

This order was so in keeping with Holmes that it felt as if he were in the room with us for a moment. It was a great encouragement to know that there was something in our musical theory. I beckoned our new allay to the sofa as Clark and I explained the disappearance of Holmes. I was ready to refrain from telling him about Bradshawe’s cases and theories to get to Swanson’s information, but Clark forged ahead and included our guest in the mystery. 

The poor fellow seemed as surprised as we that Holmes’ musical work would be involved. “To explain, I make my living with private music instruction some distance from here,” Swanson said. “My focus is primarily tutoring children on stringed instruments, although I have taught some music theory and history when required. The area where I live and work is known as ‘Musicians Alley’, and barely a moment goes by when there is not some form of music playing. Several days ago, I stood outside my studio waiting for a late student, and struck up a conversation with your Mr. Holmes. He inquired into my areas of expertise and we discussed stringed instruments at length before gradually talking about the other musicians in the area. There is quite a feud going on between two rival violinists that live across the street from each other. I gather that they have been at each other’s throats since this school years. Not a day goes by that they are not heard arguing at each other over the superiority of their respective favourite composers. Over the last few weeks they have taken to trying to drown out the other when they play. One favours Schubert, and the other Berlioz. Mr. Lester, who prefers Schubert, has been working for some months on writing the counterpoint piece Schubert would have wished to compose before he died. Mr. Swain, the Berlioz enthusiast and equally a composer and theorist, feels that while Schubert is a lesser composer he is being done a total and complete injustice by Lester’s attempts at composition. When Lester is writing or playing one of his works, Swain opens wide the windows and blares his own Schubert inspired counterpoint. Lester has taken to retaliating, and the two battle back and forth until the street echoes! At length it will dissolve into screeching until one of the musicians retreats, usually punctuated with the slam of a window and the relief of the surrounding public. I spoke of all of this to Mr. Holmes before my student arrived. He said he had read of the feud in the paper, where it has been dubbed ‘The Battle’, and came to that spot to hear it himself, being a medieval scholar. I know a little of Schubert myself, and he asked if he may consult my musical knowledge if he had the need.”

Clark nodded, and turned to me. “So now we know what he was doing, but why? And how in any way would that tie into his disappearance?”

I could only shake my head. “Perhaps this music business has nothing to do with his vanishing. However, it seems to be the only solid link we have.”

At this, both Bradshawe and Lestrade were shown into the room. Lestrade greeted our guest with little interest, though I thought Bradshawe’s greeting was colder and slightly disapproving. This may have been due, perhaps, to Miss Clark having introduced Swanson as a ‘fellow musician’. “Mr. Swanson is there at the request of Holmes,” Clark explained after introductions, “as part of his music study, but he has not seen Holmes but once, and could tell us nothing of where Holmes could have gone or why.”  
Both officers were relieved to have part of the puzzle click into place, but Mrs. Hudson burst into the room before they could respond. 

“Here’s a letter from Mr. Holmes!”


	7. The Detective's Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, over 1000 words again!
> 
> We're getting there, folks!
> 
> Finally a message from Holmes! What is said is far less important than how it is said. And trust our wily detective to slip a secret in there.
> 
> Tusen Takk!

“Here’s a letter from Mr. Holmes!”

“Ah, I thought there would be,” said Lestrade. “No doubt this will clear everything up.”

Mrs. Husdon handed me the envelope, and I read aloud Holmes’ letter. It ran:

Watson and Clark,  
I am in the middle of a delicate assignment, and cannot afford to have it bungled by you. You, Watson, are to wait for my summons and respond without your usual delay. Clark, I expect you to be presentable, for a change, should your delicate countenance be required again. Search through out my files for unexplained deaths six months ago and longer.  
Utmost quiet is needed. Do not fail.

Holmes.

“Not the sweetest side of our Holmes emerges,” Lestrade observed, dryly.

“Unexplained deaths six months ago! This must be the murders!” cried Bradshawe, excitedly. 

“I wonder how Holmes happened to tumble to them. A pity he does not say more,” replied Lestrade. 

Bradshawe looked about to say more, then appeared to remember Mr. Swanson was still present. “Unfortunately, as this is police business and not music, it may be beyond your concern. I’m certain Mr. Holmes will call on you when he is not preoccupied.”

This could not be seen as anything but a dismissal. I was about to protest, but Clark spoke up. “We would be honoured to have you back again soon, Mr. Swanson, for a further chat. It is a pity Holmes was not here, he will wish to speak with you again soon, I’m sure. I’ll see you out.”

Before Clark and Swanson left the room, Clark looked back and gave the tiniest nod towards Swanson, then Bradshawe, before giving a very slight shake of the head and leaving the room. They were followed by Mrs. Hudson, who looked much relieved that Holmes appeared well.

I was puzzled, as I took this to mean that Clark wished me not to tell either man of the law about our discussion with Mr. Swanson. Lestrade and Bradshawe were too busy examining the envelope to witness this. I decided to hold my tongue for the moment, at least. 

By the time Clark returned, Lestrade and Bradshawe had determined that there were no distinguishing marks on the envelope or notepaper. I readily identified the handwriting as that of Holmes, so there was no doubt as to it’s authenticity. “While hearing news of him is reassuring, we are no closer to understanding what is going on,” I lamented.

“There doesn’t appear to be much more to do but wait,” Clark said. “Unless someone at the post office happened to notice where this was posted, but that may be too much to ask. If this is to be done quietly, whom among us could enquire without raising suspicion?”

“It would be best for myself and Bradshawe to make these inquiries,” said Lestrade. “The two of you may be needed at a moment’s notice, according to the letter. Bradshawe and I shall be discrete.”

Lestrade turned to go, while Bradshawe lingered. “I meant to ask, what was taken in last night’s burglary?” he asked.

“The thieves made off with several files on poisons and various persons of interest. They appear to have missed Holmes’ case on unsolved and unsatisfactory deaths, fortunately” I replied.

“Although they took your own file,” Clark added. “I’m so sorry, I should have taken that with us. It would be invaluable now.”

She sounded so miserable that Bradshawe was immediately reassuring, stooping to retrieve the envelope she had dropped and placing it back in her hand. “Don’t fear, I remember enough of it. I have some notes at the station still, so all is not lost.”

After both men left, Clark turned to me. “So, Watson, what do you think of Holmes’ letter?”

The letter lay on the table. I picked it up, peering at it. “While I would swear that it is Holmes’ writing, it doesn’t sound like him in the slightest. He has never used such cutting language.”

“He never would. You have never bungled a case. When was there ever a moment that you were not immediately at his side when he needed you? We both know that it was never a serious conversation when my countenance was referred to as ‘delicate’.”

Clark indeed had a slightly German solidity to her build and seriousness to her face when left to her thoughts, which she joked was in contrast to the ‘fairy delicacy’ of English ladies.

“You take this to be a warning?” I asked.

“I do.”

“Why did you not raise your concerns before Lestrade?”

“Because I have concerns about Bradshawe.”

I opened my mouth to object, but began to see what Clark was suggesting. “It was convenient that the flat was burgled while we were all of us away, unless I am mistaken, at Bradshawe’s suggestion.”

“And that he is so certain that his case is the reason for Holmes’ disappearance. You noticed his aversion to Mr. Swanson?” she asked.

“I had thought that perhaps was was the jealousy of a potential suitor at the presence of another gentleman,” I commented.

Clark blushed slightly at this, but waved my words away. “His attentions may be genuine, but they may also be a tool used by a clever man in an attempt to win my trust. He has purposely sought to convince us that his cases are the reason Holmes is gone, but there is no proof.”

“There is this letter,” I countered, but as soon as the words left me I realized I did not believe them.

Clark nodded. “You know as well as I that even a Holmes under extreme duress would not be cruel deliberately. I suspect he did not write that freely. What concerns me is that he may have been killed once writing this, having put us off the track.”

“You don’t know that,” I responded, firmly.

“True.”

“So you feel that Holmes’ music is the key to this?”

“Somehow yes, I do. Holmes claimed the more outrageous a thing, the more it demanded attention. The theft of his work and the request to speak with Swanson, whom I asked to return again tonight with any information he could find about the two duelists and Schubert, is too unusual to ignore.”

“I wonder further about Bradshawe. Do you know anyone who may know him form his active service days? It would not do to ask Lestrade,” I said.

“I have asked Swanson, actually. Several of his pupils have fathers in the force, one or two are friends and associates. I have suggested he ask them about a colleague with a supposed back injury.”

“You think Bradshawe is feigning the injury?” I asked.

“A back injury is not so easily waved away. You noted how easily Bradshawe lent forward the other day, and how quickly he retrieved the envelope from the floor just now. Had he a previous an injury as he suggests, such actions would be excruciating. A back injury is useful, difficult to prove or disprove, and suggests harmlessness. He may be a threat yet.”

“It is fortunate he does not know our thoughts. It gives us time. Now, let us back to this letter. I suspect there is more to this.”

We both examined it again. I attempted the same methods as Holmes, holding the paper close to my face at various angles in the shadow and the strength of the now noonday sun. At last, I saw a difference that was invisible unless one was looking along the plane of the piece of paper. “Clark, do my eyes deceive me, or is there an indentation in the paper?”


	8. Scratches and Injuries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've got nothing.  
> This was the least inspired chapter yet. Adding fluff to meet my 1000 word goal feels like cheating, so here's what I have. I'll add on another chapter as an Epilogue to make up for it, maybe!
> 
> Tusen Takk!

I handed the paper to Clark, who held it against the light the same way I had. “You’re right! It looks to be scratches. It’s so faint, though, I can’t decipher it.”

“Wait a moment!”

I took the paper from her, laying it flat on my desk. I gently brushed the side of a pencil lead over where the scratches were. Through the grey, Clark and I could make out the letters SSV, which had been scored with underlines, and below that xCC. “These letters appear to have been done with a fingernail, see how they curve?” I said, fitting my own nail into the curve in the straight lines of the ‘x’. 

“More proof it was Holmes, as your hands are hearer to his size than mine,” Clark observed. “What do you suppose he was trying to say?”

“I can only assume they tie into his location, as none of the letters refer to the duelling violinists, Bradshawe or any of the criminals I recall from Holmes’ files.”

“It must be a near enough location, if a letter intending to set us off track reached us within such a short time,” Clark observed. 

We both of us puzzled over possible locations that those initials could stand for, neither of us arriving at a satisfactory answer. The SSV could have stood for a number of ‘Saint Something’ institutions and even more numerous ships named after Queen Victoria, and while CC could stand for a series of buildings, it would be hopeless and time consuming to explore them all without more information. It was mid afternoon when a message arrived from Swanson. He stated he was able to contact a friend and parent of one of his pupils, who had been an officer alongside Bradshawe when his injury occurred and been injured himself in the same accident. The name of the Doctor who had seen to their injuries was actually one well known to myself, so I made a visit to his clinic equipped with my medical bag and giving the impression I was there to discuss an ailing child with a confusing set of symptoms. My colleague confirmed all we had thought, that Bradshawe’s injuries were likely feigned, as it was his companion that’d been most injured when a brick wall in a derelict house had collapsed. 

Hoping to possibly learn something more of Bradshawe’s character through his former colleague, I asked the Doctor to send the man to see me under the guise of needing medical treatment. His instructions were to first go to my surgery, where he would be sent to Baker Street. The Doctor found this all rather confusing, but I managed to impress upon him that this was a very sensitive matter and he agreed. 

By the time I returned, Clark was attired as a ‘proper lady’ in a more decorative outfit than yesterday, albeit with men’s trousers under a skirt, which itself could be untied and discarded in a crisis. She had Holmes’ letter, book and several maps on the table. Strangely, on the table she had also placed a large fur muff. Clark explained that, should Bradshawe or Lestrade enter unexpectedly, it was the only place she thought to hide Holmes’ musical book. An intentionally ripped seam just allowed the book to fit inside and be sheltered against her body for safe keeping. So long as only she or I handled the accessory, none would know. 

I informed her of my discovery, and we both hoped that Swanson or his friend might send word soon to help us. While we waited, we continues to pour over the maps. While we decided that CC would most likely stand for Charing Cross, we could not hope to search both the church and the station adequately on our own. I suggested involving Lestrade in our discoveries and so utilize the full power of the force, however both Clark and I knew that without certain proof of Bradshawe’s involvement, there was little way of us making him mistrust his prized officer. To prevent either man from visiting and possibly encountering one of our secret allies, I dispatched a message to Lestrade that Clark and I determined that we had made no headway and were waiting for Holmes’ signal and would be entrusting the case to Holmes’ brother Mycroft as we felt it was out of our hands. As Mycroft himself was absent on the continent for another two weeks, we felt that this would lull Bradshawe and his associates into a false sense of security, while in no way endangering Holmes by suggesting that we were nearing an answer. It was all that we could do.


	9. The Code, Cracked!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swanson's musical skills and Watson's insight!  
> We're picking up steam now!
> 
> Getting over a bug, so took yesterday off. Couldn't move my eyes without making my head hurt, but today is better!
> 
> Tusen Takk!

It was early that evening that Swanson returned to Baker Street in a flurry of excitement. He darted into the room flourishing music sheets, setting several down on the table whilst pulling several musical volumes out of his bag, his dark eyes alight. “Your Holmes was onto something!” he cried, setting his guitar down beside the door. “It’s the Battle!”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “The musicians feud is linked to Holmes’ vanishing?”

“It must be! I’ve been listening to and transcribing their music as best I can. Usually they do battle once a day, but since the date of your friend’s disappearance they’ve increased to nearly three times a day, much to the annoyance of their neighbours. Now listen, at first one of the two will play their own Schubert inspired counterpoint, then the other will interrupt with their own interpretation. Eventually the music breaks down until both violinists are attempting to out maneuver each other in virtuosity. I’ve noticed that the ‘bickering’ following their compositions follows certain patterns. I’m certain it’s some form of code and that Holmes was abducted for fear that he suspected so and would investigate. His knowledge of Medieval music was enough to alert him, which led him to his musical investigations.”

I was astounded, as the theory proposed by Swanson seemed at once comically unbelievable and just plausible enough to be true. After having been taken in so by Bradshawe, I was still slightly inclined to distrust Mr. Swanson, but his words rang truer that our deceitful officer. Swanson began sorting his music into piles, each belonging to a specific day and time, with each composer coloured in a different ink, red for Lester and blue for Swain. “We are fortunate, I set some of my older pupils to transcribe Swain and Lester’s battles as an exercise. Otherwise we would only have my noted from today. I have their original transcriptions and have copied them into their corresponding colours.” “But what on earth could be so important that it would be communicated through such a method?” asked Clark.

“I’m not sure,” Swanson replied. “But if we can crack this, I’m sure we’ll know.”

“You don’t suppose Holmes’ clue is in any way a cipher?” I asked.

Clark and I showed Swanson the note, explaining our thoughts. Swanson agreed that the letters were important, but doubted that they were the key. All three of us drew up chairs to the sitting room table, each with a book of counterpoint and music theory, and attempted to find some patterns. Eventually we came to the same conclusions. “I’m glad you put the dynamic markings here,” Clark said at last. “It makes this rapid section look like a refusal of some kind.”

“This part before that appears to be a suggestion,” Swanson said, bringing out his guitar and playing it through very rapidly. “Was it played that quickly?” I asked.

“It was. At first the speed made me think that it could not be a code at all and that my suspicions were wrong. I had a hard time believing that anyone could decipher a code, imagine a reply, translate it into code and play it back so speedily. However, the rapid back and forth only occurs after both Lester and Swain have played these phrases, you see them repeated every time they duel. I imagine they each have set phrases already coded out and at hand in these duets.”

We continued our research for some time. What little literature we had on musical codes was useless, and even Holmes’ book proved to contribute little. As Mrs. Husdon came in and turned up the gas, Clark lent back with a sigh. At length she picked up a transcribed sheet, following the music and tapping the rhythm with her hand against the arm of the chair. I watched her for some moments, my mind whirling with theory, before realizing what I was seeing. “It’s Morse Code!” I cried.

Both Clark and Swanson jumped. “What?” Clark asked.

“Their code! It’s Morse Code!”

Amazed, I flew to Holmes desk and pulled out his volume on Samuel Morse. Back at the table, I began to translate the first of the sheets. It ran:

Statusgo- notclear- suspicion- yes- name- holmes- reportup-

Here it ended.

“Watson you’ve done it!” cried Clark. “It looks as if they reported Holmes’ visit to Musician’s Alley to their superior.” 

The next day ran:

Statusgo- clear- holmes- captive- friends- astray- who- B- goahead-

“That’s clear enough,” I said. “Holmes was captured and we were being misled by Bradshawe.”

However, nothing in the music told us the location of Holmes. The most promising line came from the most recent battle before Swanson came to join us:

Statusgo- clear- onboard- yes- vessel- virginia- where- docking- waitforsignal-

“Virginia!” I cried!

“S.S. Virginia!” Clark pounced on a bundle of discarded newspapers, rifling through them rapidly. “I know I’ve seen that somewhere in here!” 

“It must be an American ship.” Swanson said.

“And there must be someone important on there.”

“Or something.”

“It’s a someone,” said Clark, bring a crumpled paper to the table. “We were blind not to see this, Watson, especially after Holmes’ clue.”

In a column inside the paper was the announcement of James A. Garfield, 20th President of the United States, intending to visit England. It was the sort of article that was likely born of a half truth and few had felt that the President was actually going to set foot on a boat, much less out if his country. “There are many who would pay a great deal to see this fellow gone,” Clark observed. “And they’re willing to pay for it to be done safely overseas.”

“We may still be wrong,” said Swanson. “There may be others onboard. As the messages don’t mention name at all, we can’t assume it’s the President they’re talking about. It’s a high class vessel, there may be many other potential targets on board.”

“True,” I said. “But at the very least we know the Virginia is the focus of this.”

“And that Holmes is alive,” Clark said.

“How can you be sure?” I asked.

“The messages said ‘captive’, not killed. He’s out there.”


	10. The Dark and Light Sides of the Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So my whatever the hell I caught decided it wasn't done with me yesterday and steamrollered me today. Still, I can't sleep anymore, so here's a chapter.
> 
> A huge thank you to MakeNoiseMan for letting me steal Jerek, Brie, Rori and Jaz! I make no apologies for the puns!  
> Again, another huge tusen takk to MakeNoiseMan for letting me create Arthur Swanson based on him. The musical skill and ability to somehow teach multiple younglings will always look like wizardry or jedi mind control to me.

We should have been used to interruptions by now, but I admit all of us jumped when there was a peal at the bell. I darted to the window, fearing Bradshawe and Lestrade and wondering how we were to keep our suspicions from them, but it was a different set of strangers at the door. Mrs. Hudson brought up no card, instead announcing them herself. “They say that their Doctor sent them here to you, to talk about their injuries. The gentleman appears to have a military bearing.”

Remembering the colleague of Bradshawe that had actually suffered during the house collapse, I recognized that with his aid we might actually convince Lestrade of Bradshawe’s falseness. I bade them enter and had just enough time to catch Swanson up to speed when they entered the sitting room. The man was supported by his wife, although he was doing his best to stand unassisted. She held a one year old child in her arms, and a small boy clung to the gentleman’s hand. Clark and I bade them enter, assisting the gentleman to sit on the sofa with cushions placed to support him. The older child had caught sight of Mr. Swanson and immediately began chatting to him in the manner of a surprised and delighted child to their favourite tutor. “Hush, Rori, let us speak for a moment,” the mother said gently, bringing the young boy to stand with her. “Here, help me with Jasmine.”

Her husband attempted to lean forwards to pick up the boy, but was stopped with a pained noise. There was no acting in his performance. His wife leant forward, concern in her face, but he patted her hand. “It’s alright, Brie,” he said, managing a smile and relaxing back.

“Do you need anything?” asked Clark.

“Thank you, no, I would prefer to get to business,” replied the man. “To explain, my name is Jerek De Kay, and this my wife Brieanna. I’d worked in the force until just a few months ago. I was in the military before that, but wanted something closer to home when I met and married Brie. The accident you’ve been told about did a great deal of damage, but I’ve been slowly coming around. As I couldn’t do active patrol, I spent my time recovering and going over old cases that were never solved. I found one or two thefts that seemed to have the same thread running through them. Now my colleague Bradshawe had been in the same house with me when the accident occurred, though I gather that he sustained no lasting damage. He would occasionally check in on me, as we had been on good terms. Recently, I received a notice that I would be pensioned off, and handsomely, as it appeared my injuries were too great for me to return to the force. I was surprised by this, as I felt I was healing well, though slowly. I spoke to Bradshawe about it when I saw him last and felt that there was something not quite true in his manner. A while later I received a visit from another colleague who spoke of Bradshawe having a near identical injury to mine! I realized he had been using me for a study, copying my injury, though I couldn’t tell why.”

“Do you know how long he had been in the force?” I asked.

“Less than a year, I’d say. But why did you ask me here?”

I explained briefly about our experience with Bradshawe. “Do you think there are other corrupt members in the force?” Clark asked. “This seems organized enough that I doubt Bradshawe is alone. He probably isn’t the one running this whole thing, either. It doesn’t suit him.”

“Do you think Lestrade would be likely to listen to you if we confronted him with this?” I asked.

Mr. De Kay shook his head. “Bradshawe has a winning way about him. I gather the two thefts I was working on were actually solved by Bradshawe. Lestrade is probably over the moon for him. I could make Lestrade suspicious, but not completely shake his faith in Bradshawe.”

“I saw Bradshawe after lessons today!” chirruped Rori to Swanson, his sandy blond fringe tumbling over his eyes. 

“Did you now?” said Swanson, “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing to me, he was talking to Mr. Lester. I had that sheet music blow away and was chasing it and saw them in Mr.Lester’s parlour.”

“Really?” said Swanson, using all of the charm that probably served him well with his young charges. “Do you remember what they were talking about?”

Rori’s face fell a little. “It’s not nice to eaves drop.”

“I know, and I know you weren’t,” replied Swanson. “Those two may be up to mischief, so if you heard them say something that could help us, it wouldn’t be telling tales. It would be you being a light for the force.”

Rori nodded. “Mr. Lester was asking if everything was alright, and Mr. Bradshawe said yes. Then something about a ‘he’s at the station’.”

“Do you think they mean Holmes?” I asked Clark, who had risen from her chair and was holding Holmes’ note.

“I do, and we’re idiots. Look here!”

She held up the note, with a blank sheet of writing paper under it. Against the fresh sheet, we could see that the note paper was ever so slightly tinged grey. “That’s coal dust, it must be! Holmes is being held in the coal room of a railway station, and most likely Charing Cross as his initials say!”  
“X marks the spot!” crowed Rori.

In astonishment, I examined the small ‘x’ before the rest of the scratched letters. “Clark, you and I will have to resign, Holmes will want to train Rori. Apparently he’s the brightest of us all.”

Swanson left to his feet, but before he could speak, Mrs. Hudson entered and announced that Lestrade and Bradshawe were at the door!


	11. To Action!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so much better today!
> 
> Second last chapter, folks! We'll see if I do a Christmas day one just for fun.
> 
> MakeNoiseMan- I have no idea if you play the violin or not. I wouldn't be surprised. So sorry if you do and I said your character doesn't!
> 
> Tusen Takk!

“What do we do?” Clark asked, paling to the lips. She darted to the table and stuffed Holmes’ musical book into her fur muff, holding it to her.

I was not sure how to respond. To confront Bradshawe with so many key people in front of Lestrade might prove dangerous, especially to Holmes. However, there was little time to waste. In the back of my mind I remembered reading that the S.S. Virginia was set to dock at eight, and it was just five thirty now. 

“If you two need to rescue Mr. Holmes, I can buy you time,” Mr. Te Kay said. “I can reminisce with Bradshawe, it would do no harm to lower his guard, and keep both men here. I can invent a crime if need be.”

“That may be best,” I said. “As much as I wish to involve Lestrade.”

While I spoke, Clark and Swanson were hurriedly packing the musical notes into Swanson’s case. They had just finished when Bradshawe entered, unbidden. “Ah, Clark! Watson! I wondered at the delay. And-”

Bradshawe’s easy smile faltered seeing Swanson and the Te Kay family. A flicker of unease passed through his eyes. Lestrade followed behind, apologetic. “I’m sorry for the intrusion,” Lestrade said, casting a rueful glance at Bradshawe. “Bradshawe was eager to share an insight which I felt was promising. It you’re not engaged with a separate case, that is?”

“Well-” I began, and immediately faltered.

Mr. Te Kay rose, with some difficulty. “Good to see you again, inspector.”

“Officer Te Kay!” cried Lestrade, striding forward to shake the man’s hand and greet his family. “The force has missed you! It was a sad day when you gave your notice.”

“Notice?” asked Mr. Te Kay.

“Yes, you gave your notice saying your injuries were too painful,” replied Lestrade, with some confusion. “I admit I am glad to see you looking so well.”

“I didn’t quit, sir,” said Mr. Te Kay. “I was pensioned off. Bradshawe brought me the papers and explained the thing to me. I admit I was surprised, I felt in a few more months to a year I should be back at work, as my back was healing.”

“Pensioned off? Nonsense!”

Lestrade turned to Bradshawe, who had stood rooted to the spot. 

“What is this? I gave no such instruction. You yourself managed to return to work after your injuries.”

Bradshawe said nothing, his eyes fixed on a scrap of paper that had escaped being packed into Swanson’s case. Clark, who had been slowly edging between Bradshawe and the door, followed his gaze and her eyes widened. Bradshawe wheeled and made for either the door or Miss Clark. Clark responded by striking Bradshawe on the jaw with her book weighted fur muff, and the blow dropped him to the ground.

“What is this?!” cried Lestrade.

“You have been deceived, Inspector Lestrade,” I replied. “This man has not only participated in the abduction of Sherlock Holmes, but has been lying to you about his string of connected cases. There is a greater scheme afoot, and once we have him conveyed safely to a cell I will explain it.”

“Call Sergeant Gregson, he’s a friend of Holmes as well, he’ll not be corrupt,” said Clark, gingerly checking that Bradshawe was merely unconscious. Satisfied, she called down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson to deliver the message as quickly as possible. 

“You think there are others?” Lestrade asked.

“Most likely,” replied Mr. Te Kay. “But your Holmes will find them.”

“We’d best bring him round and get Holmes’ location,” Lestrade responded, sounding shaky and disbelieving.

“No need. And also, perhaps, no time.” I said. “The crime is set for tonight, we have a bare two hours to figure out how to thwart it. If Bradshawe’s colleagues see him being led from here in chains, who know what they could do to Holmes?” 

“I’ll watch him,” said Te Kay, still standing, looking determined. “Put his cuffs on him and I can keep him here. Bri, Take the kids home, alright?”

As Lestrade and I propped Bradshawe up in a chair, taking his firearm, Mrs. Te Kay gathered her somewhat shaken children to her and kissed her husband. Swanson had done a good job to reassure young Rori after seeing Bradshawe knocked unconscious, and the children went quietly. 

While we worked, I explained to Lestrade what we had discovered, making all as brief as possible. Lestrade agreed to accompany me to the station, but we were at a loss as to how to prevent the boat crime. There was nothing we could do to prevent its docking, nor did we have any concrete evidence as to who or what was in danger. “I have it!” cried Swanson. “Clark, can you play violin?”

“No, not at all,” Clark responded, a light of comprehension growing in her eyes.

“Good, neither can I. We should be able to cause quite a disruption. With luck we can encourage some of my near by students to join in.”

“What do you mean to do?” Lestrade asked.

“Of course!” I said. “Interrupt the duel and make all messaged unintelligible! They’re waiting for a signal!”

“So we had better start now, there’s been nothing between the two all day! You two get to Holmes!” 

Clark snatched up Holmes’ violin as she and Swanson darted out the door. From the window I could see Swanson, guitar in hand and case under his arm, tugging on Clark’s arm to help her run faster as she cradled Holmes’ violin.

“It may be kinder to leave Holmes where he is until she returns his instrument,” observed Lestrade. “I hate to think of his reaction if he knew it was in the hands of an amateur.”

Ignoring this, I had on my overcoat and was handing Te Kay Bradshawe’s weapon, drawing the blinds now that the sun was fully set. I flagged down one of the Baker Street Irregulars on the corner, telling them to go to Musicians alley and make all the musical noice they could. Lestrade and I hailed a cab for the Station. “Holmes must be in a room with little traffic, otherwise even his corpse would have been sighted by now.”

“There are the old storehouses that are currently under renovation, though I have seen little work done there.”

“I suspect that is the place!”

And we were right. Once we convinced the workmen who were tasked with keeping the public out that we were acting for the law, in the back corner of the coal room, dusty, hungry and black as the moor of Venice, was our Holmes.


	12. Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whew! What a ride!
> 
> Through work, more work, and a rough illness that made my mother refer to me as looking 'like Death warmed over'. However, feeling so much better! No voice to speak of, which is why I made Clark have a sore throat in sympathy.
> 
> There may be an epilogue tomorrow, who knows?
> 
> Thank you again to MakeNoiseMan! I promise never to torment you with my attempts at learning violin.  
> I plan on learning the harp.
> 
> Merry Yule!
> 
> Tusen Takk!!!

Such a night had never before been seen by Scotland Yard. While Gregson and Te Kay arrived with a disgraced Bradshawe to the station, the station itself had been flooded with noise complaints from Musician’s Alley! Swanson and Clark had raced to the spot, Swanson alerting all students he encountered and telling their no doubt stunned parents that their offspring were needed to make as much racket as humanly possible. Clark, meanwhile, did a true injustice to Holmes’ violin in the street. By the time Lester and Swain attempted to communicate, the street was full of the most awful din. Several students brought along their young relations with rattles to shake and pans to bang. When Lester tried to meet Swain in the street, as their windows did not face each other to allow for their signals to be sent via candle light, a horde of the Baker Street Irregulars flooded the area and would let none pass. Clark added her own screeching rendition of Wagner’s ‘Flight of the Valkeries’ to drown out the men attempting to talk, and may have over done it, as she is unable to speak much today. I think the performance took Mr. Swanson rather by surprise.

A secondary group of the Irregulars from the street were sent to the docks with a warning to guard the docking of the S.S. Virginia. The officials were skeptical, but Swanson had thought to tell them that Lestrade and Holmes had both ordered it, and so the docking was watched. All went safely, and we determined the rumours of the president’s visit were indeed fabricated. 

Holmes was rapidly brought to Musician’s Alley, as I felt that Clark and Swanson would play until dawn unless they knew Holmes was safe and that our case was closed. Holmes was able to break through the crowd and reach Swanson and Clark, the latter burst into tears of relief and joy that Holmes was well. Holmes pretended not to be overly affected by this, but I could see the sparkle in his eyes, that had also been there when Lestrade and I entered the coal room, that spoke volumes. For all her enthusiasm, Clark had managed not to damage Holmes’ violin, and through happy tears asked if Holmes thought she should take up study of the instrument. Holmes’ sarcastic remark that such methods of torture were out of date were met with laughter, though the Irregulars soon scattered when police officers arrived on the scene to apprehend Swain and Lester. Swanson was occupied through this getting his students and their families to end the noise and return home with a job well done. It was no small task, and it took some moments and some instructions in a serious tone to several unruly children before the street was empty. The neighbours there were clearly relieved, though one or two approached Lestrade to make a direct complaint. These were politely but firmly rejected by Lestrade, who cited police business to the unbelieving citizens. 

While energetic as always, Holmes was still a weakened man, and Clark and I departed with him to Baker Street, with the assurance that tomorrow we, Lestrade and Swanson would explain all. Clark fairly skipped across the street to her home, and I admit my heart was much lightened to finally see Holmes cross the threshold. Mrs. Husdon also burst into happy tears, and here Holmes unbent enough to pat her shoulder and assure her all was well. While Holmes wished to be told all, I firmly told him to rest while Mrs. Hudson drew him a much needed bath. Afterwards, over a late meal, I gave Holmes a very brief sketch of what happened. I knew full well Clark would not be pleased if I told the entire story without all of the principle players present.

The next morning the papers were full of the amusing noise in Musician’s Alley, though none could really say what had occurred. The occupants of the street were relieved to hear that there were to be no more counterpoint duels, in a statement given by the police in answer to the noise complaints.  
Clark arrived early, before even nine o clock, with a beaming smile. I fully shared her delight, and I invited her in for coffee. Holmes was already awake and had dispatched several telegrams since rising. He was tuning his violin when we entered the room, making a show of shielding the instrument from Clark when she approached. Clark merely swatted him on the arm with her gloves, never ceasing to smile. I remarked that Holmes was lucky, the last man she hit with an accessory was knocked unconscious. Before Holmes could enquire, Swanson and Lestrade arrived with Mr. Te Kay. 

We heard Holmes’ story first, of how on his journey from the post office, he was stopped by Bradshawe himself! As he had heard of Bradshawe in the papers and from Lestrade due to his unraveling two related thefts, he was not immediately suspicious. Some of the cases Bradshawe had solved had seemed to suggest a plant, but Holmes was ready to hide his thoughts until he gathered more information. He thought nothing of walking with Bradshawe, who asked him to investigate a crime scene. Here Holmes’ memory was vague, and I suspect the lump on the back of his head caused this. Holmes recalled coming back to consciousness bound and gagged, being dragged by at least two persons through hallways into a shabby room. After being locked in, Holmes, while unable to undo his bonds, managed to creep to the door and overhear that his destination was Charing Cross staton for the next three days. While hearing no name mentioned specifically, Holmes managed to work out that the only event of importance occurring in that time was the docking if the S.S. Virginia. After bring moved to the station, Holmes was forced to write the letter to send us off track. Using cutting words was the truest was to attract our attention, and he had just time to press the letters into the paper with his nail, though it was taken away before he could add the ’S’ to Charing Cross Station.

When Swanson asked what had led Holmes to be suspicious if the Duelling Musicians, Holmes remarked that he had never encountered two serious musicologists who would not argue their point backed by countless sources and instead resort to a childish display of noise. It was clear their music was meant to obscure something, and Holmes had at first thought, much as we had, that the secret lay in the counterpoint and music theory.

It was here that we explained our story. Holmes listened attentively, seeming to be willing to forgive our slowness in solving his case. When I reached the part of Clark rendering Bradshawe unconscious, Holmes turned to her with mild surprise. Clark shrugged, blushing a little, and pulling the book out of her muff and handing it to Holmes. “Very useful,” she managed to whisper.

“You’ve done well,” Holmes said, which made me feel very proud. “I feel a note of thanks is due to Rori. You’re quite right, Watson, he’ll succeed you all.”

Lestrade surprised us all by speaking of Bradshawe. Bradshawe had admitted that he was working under the command of another, but refused to say whom. He also wrote a letter of apology to Clark, adding a remark that he never wished to harm her, and that he hoped she could forgive him. I recall seeing the look in his face when he looked at Clark, and I felt his feelings may be genuine. Clark’s face was impassive as she took the letter and placed it in her pocket. If she chooses to read it, we will never know, though I know Bradshawe has little hope of gaining her sympathy, for all he may have her forgiveness.

Mr. Te Kay was reinstated to the force, and now commands his own detective unit. He is doing a marvellous job, much to the delight of Lestrade and satisfaction of Holmes. Lestrade had felt Bradshawe’s betrayal fully, and is doing all in his power to root out other corrupt members of the force. 

After Lestrade and Te Kay left, Swanson and Holmes had a long discussion on music, which Clark and I enjoyed greatly though we did not participate. When their conversation gradually turned to literature, Clark and Swanson discovered that they have several favourite authors in common. They will probably discuss them at length when Clark regains her voice, although not near Holmes, who finds Detective Dupin not at all to his taste. I suspect Swanson may be included in Holmes’ small circle, as he is an intelligent, pleasant and welcome guest.


End file.
